


That One Wish Guy

by DarkInuFan



Category: The Amazing Devil (Band), The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everyone knew except Geralt, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Idiots in Love, Jaskier goes by Joey now, Jaskier has a masters in Avoiding Your Ex, Jaskier: king of hide and seek, M/M, Modern Era, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Once a bard always a bard, Post-Canon, Witcher Jaskier | Dandelion, he actually means it!, like 700 years post mountain, post mountain breakup
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28303431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkInuFan/pseuds/DarkInuFan
Summary: The bard looked around, shoulders slumping in both relief and disappointment when he couldn’t immediately spot Geralt. The white hair and unmistakable gold eyes had startled him at first when he spotted the man at the bar. And then their eyes met, and he had seen open shock and, dare he say, joy, in the rough face. He knew that Geralt was alive after all this time- how could he not be- but last he heard, the man was three towns over and heading east. At least, that’s what his informant had said. 700 years of avoiding the man, and there he was, sitting at the bar with that stupid, lovely, gormless, rugged mug that hadn’t changed in all this time.Damnit, Geralt was still as beautiful as ever.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 25
Kudos: 165





	1. I promise you, I'm not broken

**Author's Note:**

> Should I be starting (and posting) a new fic? No  
> Am I? You can bet your sweet ass I am.
> 
> A little warning: each section/chapter is going to switch perspective between Geralt and Jaskier. Because that's apparently how this one wants to be written. So, basically I'm writing this story twice. Sigh.
> 
> This is vaguely based on Round_Robin's Time Stops For No Witcher

Opening the door to the tavern, Geralt wrinkled his nose at the cloud of stale cigarette smoke that welcomed him inside. He wouldn’t have gone in, except that the stained poster on the wall advertised live music. He could hear the bass that was popular these days, accompanied by drums. The open door allowed him to hear the higher notes of guitar, violin and a voice that seemed like she was crying.

“I’m the paper cut that kills you

I’m the priest that you ignored

I’m the touch you crave

I’m the plans that you made

but fuck all your plans I’m bored”

Making his way to the bar, he ordered a house ale, his eyes half-shut while he listened to the live band. That was one thing he missed from the days before modernization: live music, or none at all. None of that pre-recorded trash that they called music. There was no soul listening to the radio. Jaskier, if he was here- Geralt gave himself a small melancholy smile at the thought of the bard- would have likely gone on about the subtleties of how vocal inflections could change the tone of an entire piece.

“Can’t you hear it?

It can hear you.

It wants you to…”

Geralt’s head whipped around. The male vocalist sounded like- but it couldn’t be. It’s been 700 years since the Mountain and his Mistake. The Bard would have been long gone by now, his body turned to dust. Reincarnation, possibly? A descendant that took after his ancestor remarkably well?

“And those plates they smash like waves

(Place your hand in mine)

And on the wind it howls

(How long can this last?)” 

The male vocalist wore a sky blue button-down shirt with a blue-black vest, bringing out the brightness of his eyes. Eyes that felt like they were burned into his very soul. He could feel the moment they met and saw the spark of recognition and resignation before the guitarist turned away with a small purse of his lips.

“Be good be good be good be good be good be good 

And he replies…”

Jaskier, for it couldn’t be anyone else, frowned. “No, no, not I.” He whispered into the microphone, barely loud enough for even Witcher hearing to pick up as the female lead wrapped up the song with a heart wrenching wail. 

Taking a small water bottle break, the male vocalist- it had to be Jaskier, there was no way it wasn’t- stepped away from the microphone to whisper something in the female lead’s ear. Her eyes then scanned the crowd, locking with Geralt with a raised brow before turning and replying with a small nod. 

Jaskier, with the same care he had always given Filavandrel’s lute, laid his guitar on a stand and sat down behind the piano, much to the visible confusion of the rest of the band, though it seemed they quickly caught on and smoothly played their parts in the song.

The music started off melancholy, with a touch of playfulness. The female lead danced around the stage, visibly flirting with Jaskier while singing her part. And then her voice dropped, as well as her playful dancing.

“You don’t know it yet, but I’m the cupid of things

That you just didn’t get, that you struggled to say…” 

Geralt winced. He had heard those lyrics, that song, in many incarnations over the years. This one, though, knowing that the author of the song was _right there_ made it all more powerful.

“I promise you I’ll be better

I’ll promise you I’ll try

But like rubbing wine stains into rugs it's my curse

To try and make it right, but by trying, make it worse.

I’m the heartbreak that aches far too much to be shown”

Staring into his ale, he turned back to the barman and dug out his wallet. “Do you have any Est Est?” 

The barman raised an eyebrow in skeptical surprise. “Not much call for something like that here.”

Geralt pulled out a twenty coin note “I’m sure, but I would like a glass, if it's available, to be sent to the pianist during his next break.”

Snatching the bill with a grumble and not bothering to give back any change, he pulled out a dusty bottle and a port glass, pouring a generous serving. “Shall I say who sent over the wine?” the barkeep drawled with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

“No, he’ll know who it came from.” Geralt had a wistful tone to his gravel.

The barkeep snorted at that, but took the glass over himself soon enough, setting it on a napkin on the piano’s lid, getting a thankful, if curious, nod from Jaskier.

“Let’s take this outside

Cos we’re one and the same

Our gods have abandoned us, left us, instead

Take up arms

Take my hands

Let us waltz for the dead.”

“I’m the face that stares back

When the screen goes to black”

Jaskier looked out, locking eyes with Geralt, speaking directly to him.

“I promise you, I’m not broken

I promise you, there’s more

More to come

More to reach for

More to hurl at the door.”

He snarled the best he could through lyrics that took on a painful, grieving edge, turning away from the witcher. At one point, he pulled his hands from the keyboard, stiff with rictus, nearly screaming the lyrics before the female singer joined in, then took over.

“He’s down

He’s dead

Now take a good long look at what you’ve done to me!”

He was shaking, barely able to force his stiff fingers to play, just to get through to the end of the song. 

“Thank you, everyone, you’ve been a wonderful audience!” The female singer grinned into the microphone at the end of the song, winking at the audience. “Now, if you don’t mind, we need to take a quick break, but don’t you worry, we’ll be right back in about ten minutes!” She had barely finished her announcement before Jaskier was up and gone, through a door behind the stage. The rest of the band followed shortly, but at a more casual pace, some going through the door, and others to pick up drinks at the bar that were all sitting on a platter that the barkeep slid over. The female lead left the stage last, holding the glass of wine delicately before going through the door last. “You want me to dump it on the guy’s head?” She drawled before closing the door behind her. The last thing Geralt heard before the door latched was Jaskier’s familiar, if strangled, laughter.

The woman didn’t come right back out with the wine, so he assumed that Jaskier had at least declined her offer, even if he possibly turned down the wine as well. 

Hoping, praying, that he was doing the right thing, Geralt slunk off the barstool he had perched himself on and stashed himself away in the darkest corner of the tavern. If there was one thing that never changed, it was the feeling of security of having his back against a wall or two, away from the main crush of the other patrons. This time, though, he made sure that he also had a clear view of the stage, particularly the piano and guitar beside it. Even if Jaskier fled, he hoped that the female lead would be able to give him some answers, some clues about Jaskier, but he had never known Jaskier to run away from a fight. At least… before the Mountain, that is. And that would take patience that he didn’t think he had, waiting for Jaskier and the other musicians to finish for the night. Jaskier wouldn’t take kindly, never did take kindly, to being interrupted mid-set for frivolous things. 

So he sat back and waited, like he was on the hunt. His breathing steady as his heartbeat- which to say, it was stuttering and jackrabbiting at near-human speed in nerves. 

Eventually, the band came back out, followed shortly by the female vocalist and then Jaskier. Geralt released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and sat back to enjoy the rest of the show. He had missed Jaskier’s voice, more than he ever thought he would, and if this was his last chance- no, he wouldn’t even think of it.

* * *

The bard looked around, shoulders slumping in both relief and disappointment when he couldn’t immediately spot Geralt. The white hair and unmistakable gold eyes had startled him at first when he spotted the man at the bar. And then their eyes met, and he had seen open shock and, dare he say, joy, in the rough face. He knew that Geralt was alive after all this time- how could he not be- but last he heard, the man was three towns over and heading east. At least, that’s what his informant had said. 700 years of avoiding the man, and there he was, sitting at the bar with that stupid, lovely, gormless, rugged mug that hadn’t changed in all this time. 

Damnit, Geralt was still as beautiful as ever.

And then the bastard had sent over the wine. The same type that he had preferred when they traveled together, but could only rarely afford on the Path.

He couldn’t deal with this. His emotions, muted over the years- or so he thought- swinging wildly between joy and fear, lust and his longtime bedpartner: heartbreak. Thankfully, Madeline was able to pick up where he stumbled and finished the song, excusing Jaskier and the rest of the band for a break away from the stage, ostensibly so that he could get his head screwed back on straight.

Nearly bolting for the door backstage, Jaskier slumped against the wall, not able to get much further than just inside the door frame before doing so. A moment later, Madeline, sweet Madeline, came in with the wine glass clutched in one beautiful hand. “You want me to dump this on the guy’s head?” Jaskier couldn’t help it, he laughed, tears leaking from his eyes as he slid the rest of the way down to the floor.

Shaking his head, still convulsing from sobs hidden as giggles, he held his hand out for the glass. “No, no. That’s a waste of good wine. If you want to drench him, use the shit ale, he’d like that better.” 

“Oh, so you know the guy. Thought he was some creeper.”

“Not as much.” Jaskier closed his eyes and took a sip of the wine, tilting his head back so that he could savor the flavor. “He’s my ex, for as far as I followed him around for the best two decades of my life.”

“ _Wait,_ is that the _‘one wish’_ guy? The asshole who dumped you on top of a mountain?”

“Dude, here. I think you need this more than me.” one of the band members handed over a half-burned blunt. Giving a dry laugh, Jaskier took the joint and took a puff before handing it back. Not like Elf Leaf would do much to his changed biology, but it was the thought that counted. 

“You want me to make your excuses? It’s getting pretty late, I’m sure Aaron would understand if you cut out early.” Madeline squatted next to Jaskier’s slumped form, stealing a sip of the expensive wine without a by-your-leave.

“Is he still out there?” He asked instead, stealing his wine back. Free wine was free wine, even if it was Ger- the Wolf that paid for it. 

Leaning back far enough to nearly fall out of her crouch, Madeline cracked open the door and peered out. “I’m not seeing him, but that doesn’t mean much. He’s at least not sitting at the bar anymore.” 

Jaskier snorted. “He hates- hated- sitting at the bar.” Crawling his way back up the wall, Jaskier stood and handed Madeline the last of the wine. “Well, can’t be helped then. ‘The show must go on’ and all that rubbish. Think if we’re loud enough, we’ll scare him off?” 

“What do you have in mind?” she finished the wine and let the glass dangle from her fingers as Jaskier hauled her up.

“I was thinking Horror for now, and then going from there.”

“You just want to vent your spleen at the intended target for once, don’t you?” 

Madeline smirked, getting a similar one in reply. “Oh, you know me so well, don’t you, my dear.”

“For such an easygoing guy, you can certainly hold a grudge.”

Jaskier hummed in amused agreement. “He _is_ my muse, after all, always has been. Through heroics, love and heartbreak.” 

“And lust. Can’t forget lust.” Jaskier’s distant, wistful look spoke volumes in agreement.

Taking to the stage, they didn’t so much announce their return as start out with a series of hard-hitting chords, leading into Madeline howling like a wolf.

“You were raised by wolves and voices,

Every night I hear them howling deep beneath your bed

They said it all comes down to you.”

Looking around, it took a matter of moments to find Geralt in the darkest corner, his hair standing out like the moon among stars. Some things never changed, but at least this time he was prepared. 

“Remember me, I ask

Remember me, I sing

Give me back my heart, you wingless thing!”

He snarled, saying things that he had waited nearly a millennium to say. He had broken his heart, pushing him away for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, for trying to help with the grief and distraction that always followed their encounters with Yennefer. She was another thing that hadn’t seemed to change much, though he had never seen her interact with Geralt after the mountain, so he wouldn’t really know.

“I promise you, they’ll sing of every time your fingers passed through my hair and called me child.

Witness me old man, I am the Wild!”

Was that… was that a smile on Geralt’s face? The Witcher had leaned forward, one hand nursing his ale mug, a small quirk of his lips that, on any other person, would be open amusement. On Geralt, it just looked strange. 

* * *

He had expected Jaskier to run, but instead the bard spat and snarled along with the music, locking eyes with Geralt and not letting go. He had missed the fiery temper, the passion for all things that he cared about, and that made him just as beautiful under stage lights as he ever was lit by a campfire. 

The lyrics weren’t new, far from it, but hearing them from their master’s lips breathed full life into them. He was right, that recordings paled in the face of the real thing. 

“Witness me, Old Man, I am the Wild!” Yes, he was, and nothing could ever tame him. He could put on silks and prance around the different courts all he liked, but it was like a chained bear. Ultimately something to be released back into the forests to wander once more. He had always been more comfortable singing for the common folk than nobility, and that, it seemed, hadn’t changed one bit. With his talents, he could be famous continent-wide and sit in luxury as he lived off his royalties. Instead, he was in a no-name dive bar in a town that was far from large, but not small enough to be called a farming community either. 

He had looked for the bard at the tavern at the bottom of the mountain, and the next one after that, and the next, until he had heard rumors of Cintra’s imminent attack and had to call off his search. Jaskier was always good at hiding when he didn’t want to be found. 700 years attested to that fact quite well, and likely would have gone on for centuries longer if it hadn’t been for a twist of destiny that made him turn back west. 

Destiny, Geralt smirked at himself wryly, if only Ciri could hear him now, she would laugh. Destiny was a right bitch most of the time, but occasionally would throw him a bone to chew on. Ciri, for one. Yennefer.

Jaskier.

And now she’d given him a second chance and that was more valuable than he could ever say. He would not miss this chance to finally apologize. Jaskier was obviously mad, and rightfully so, but he was hopeful. He had stayed, after all, intending to stick out his musical set at least, and that would give him the chance, finally. 

Leaning against the table, Geralt gave Jaskier his full, undivided attention, like he should have from the very beginning. Not just of the night, but the beginning of their relationship. Maybe he wouldn’t have screwed things up so horrendously instead? He actually knew quite a few of Jaskier’s songs, as he worked his way through centuries of songs, all with his unique flair that made the Witcher positive it was penned by the bard’s own hands. Songs that had always seemed vaguely familiar, gained new life as they were sung as Jaskier meant them to be. 

Sooner than he would like, and also expected, Jaskier and the band called it quits for the night as the barman called for last drinks. As most of the audience milled about, finishing drinks and preparing to leave, Geralt kept a close eye on Jaskier as he and the rest of the band started packing up. The woman spoke something that Geralt couldn’t quite catch to Jaskier, giving him a warm smile and a punch on the arm before pushing him toward the back room. Looking around, Jaskier gave a nod and headed to the back room. Now was his chance.

Finishing the dregs of his now room temperature ale, Geralt gracefully slipped out from his claimed corner and slunk over to the door Jaskier disappeared behind. “And where do you think _you’re_ going, bub?” The barman quickly cut Geralt off before he could reach the door, crossing his impressive arms over his even more impressive chest.

“To talk to Jaskier.” Geralt stopped himself from punching the man, if barely, by thinking of what Jaskier’s reaction to the violence would be.

“Who?” The barman was clearly unimpressed.

“It’s okay, Aaron, that’s Joey’s ex.” The female singer came over, dwarfed by the two men, but her presence more than made up for it. “You know, _that_ one.”

“One Wish guy?” The barman- Aaron- quirked his eyebrow at the woman, completely ignoring Geralt. “The one that dumped him in the middle of a hike, miles from civilization, _that_ guy?”

The woman was equally unimpressed. “Yep.” Geralt winced. “ _That_ guy.”

“And why aren’t we kickin’ him out then, Maddie?”

Maddie shrugged. “Joey didn’t want me to dump the wine on the guy’s head, so that’s something. _And_ he actually knew what to get him. Most of his admirers get him some mixed drink, so that’s something, at least.”

So, Jaskier was going by Joey these days. It made sense. After all, his current ID had the name Henry on it. 

“That doesn’t mean much, since it’s Joey’s bottle in the first place. Sweet tip though.” Geralt bit off a growl at that. No wonder the barman hadn’t bothered to give him any change back. 

“Look, just let me back there to talk to Jas-Joey. I need to talk to him.” Geralt took a deep breath, as if what he had to say next physically pained him. “To apologize.” It was one thing to say it to Jaskier- Joey? Did he prefer Joey now?- but another to admit it to complete strangers. 

The barman, Aaron, studied him with a scowl. He knew though, that he was getting through when his eyes softened the slightest. “You hurt him again.” Aaron growled out, stepping aside, “They won’t find your body.” 

Maddie, on the other hand, gave him the kind of smirk Yennefer usually gave him and two thumbs up before prancing back up to the stage and helping to pack a large speaker in its case.

Going through the door to the back, Geralt followed his nose and ears to one of the fitting rooms and gave that door a perfunctory knock before slipping in and closing it firmly behind him. “Jaskier.” He breathed, watching the man finish pulling a black graphic tee-shirt over his torso, covering a network of silvered scars. Those were new. The scars themselves weren’t, but Geralt hadn’t seen them before. Turning slightly, he could see the bottom edge of a tattoo peeking out from under one sleeve. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the bottom row of teeth from a warg- a mutated wolf. It matched the bite on his own arm, ironically, from a warg. 

“Geralt.” There was no warmth in Jaskier’s normally honeyed voice. “What do you want?”

“I…” Geralt took a half-step forward, but the eyes he saw reflected in the mirror stopped him from coming any closer. “I love how you sit in a dark changing room and brood?” his voice rose in a question before he winced and looked away, missing Jaskier’s twitching lips before he bit them. “Look I… I’m sorry. For the mountain. And blaming you for everything good that happened in my life. For…” Geralt locked eyes with Jaskier. “For not appreciating you while I had you. I miss you, Jaskier.” 

Jaskier’s expression was caught vacillating between soft admiration at the apology and outright wonder before he caught himself and frowned hard. “And how long did it take you to realize that? A decade? A century? Did you realize that I should have been dust by the time you realized that I had given you the best years of my human life? Or was it tonight, when-”

“The bottom of the mountain.” Geralt cut him off, stepping forward as Jaskier wound himself tighter. “When you weren’t there, waiting close to Roach.”

“Oh.” That wasn’t a good ‘oh’, if Geralt was reading Jaskier as well as he thought he could. It was the same ‘oh’ that Triss and Yenn gave him when they found out that they were accidentally poisoning Ciri by giving her the same mushrooms and mosses that they would traditionally give trainees. That was the same ‘oh’ that Eskel gave him before punching him the winter after the Mountain, finding out that he had a child surprise that he had abandoned. “You were expecting me to wait for you? After _that_ ? After making me walk down a monster-infested mountain by my _self_? Like some dumb dog waiting for their master to come home, like my life revolved around you.”

Geralt opened his mouth to agree that yes, Jaskier’s life had indeed revolved around his at the time, and yes, he was expecting Jaskier to wait back at their camp with the dwarves, but something inside him recognized that he was on thin- fucking- ice with the bard and snapped his mouth shut again. “I looked for you.” he said instead, “You weren’t at the tavern.”

Jaskier snorted, swinging around and grabbing up a black leather jacket with Cintran blue detailing across the arms, shoulders, and surprisingly broad torso, matching a pair of black chaps he just now realized that the bard was wearing. “You, what, thought that I would stick around and give a performance after you _broke my heart_ ?” Zipping up his jacket with more force than necessary and making sure the neck snap was secure, he grabbed a helmet with the same Cintran blue detailing as his jacket. “And give you the chance to possibly catch up and rip into me again. No, I gave you your wish, Geralt, and _took myself off your hands._ I went _home_ , I’ll have you know. _Goodbye_ , Geralt.” Putting on the helmet, Jaskier picked up his backpack and went to pass Geralt to the door. 

Stopping, he stared at the Witcher through the darkened face plate (what an unnerving thing, seeing his own golden eyes reflected in the black glass where Jaskier’s should be) before flipping it up and giving a flat smile. “It was good to see you again. I’ve missed you too.” Flipping the vizor back down, he shouldered his way past and disappeared through the door.


	2. LEG day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "It'll be a nice long one-shot" 
> 
> LOL
> 
> No.
> 
> This chapter's a bit of a shorter one, mostly from Madeline's POV

Madeline heard the whole thing, standing outside Joey’s dressing room. She knew that he had a past. He had that kind of air around him. That, and the many nights where they would sit and get absolutely shitfaced while writing songs. Sometimes, when he was feeling nostalgic, he would tell her a little about his life. He was older than he looked, but centuries? Impossible. Then again, beings like mages and elfbloods existed who had extended lives, so why not Joey? He said that he wasn’t an elfblood, so a mage, maybe?

The door opened and Madeline just smiled and opened her arms in offer. Covering his face didn’t matter, she could read his body language. “So?” She murmured into his sensitive ear.

“Damnit, I still love him.” Joey breathed into her hair, letting her hold him up while he gathered his strength. “What do I do?”

She hummed, not sure herself. “Do you want to forgive him?” 

“There’s nothing  _ to  _ forgive.” He pressed his helmeted cheek to her head uncomfortably, but that didn’t matter. “I was the stupid one, stepping in too soon after Yenn broke it off with him. I thought it was just one of their normal arguments. It was my own fault, and I didn’t want to face that.”

“Look, no, he’s the one that yelled at you. Did you make them break up?” She asked, continuing before he could answer. “No, you didn’t. You were trying to support him while he was hurting. You didn’t deserve what he said.” 

Sighing, Joey pulled back after a final squeeze. “Are you coming home immediately?” Madeline asked, bending down to shoulder Joey’s guitar to pack into her car.

“No.” He shook his head. “I think I’m going to go shoot something for a bit. I haven’t practiced in a while.” 

“Alright.” Madeline nodded and slid her hand down his arm, giving his hand a squeeze before dropping it. “I’ll put aside a plate for you if it gets too late. You’re lucky it’s not your turn to cook.” 

Joey laughed, nodding. “I’d never hear the end of it then. For some reason, nobody appreciates my cooking, even if it is my turn. What a mystery.”

“Yeah, a mystery.” Truth is, they intentionally left Joey out of the cooking chore rotation. It wasn’t like it was inedible… just very utilitarian. Smearing a lipstick swak on the side of his helmet, she sent him off out through the back door.

* * *

Watching him go, Madeline slumped against the wall, letting the guitar case thump to the floor again. Eventually, she rolled her head from looking after where Joey left, back to the fitting room. “If your hearing’s anything near as good as Joey’s,” She stated, not bothering to raise her voice, “Then you heard all that. Get on out here.”

Hardly a few seconds passed before the door opened, revealing a sheepish Witcher. “It’s like he forgets sometimes, just how thin these walls are.” She spoke lazily, watching the Witcher. “And how about you? If you don’t return his feelings, I would suggest just packing right back up and leaving town tonight. This town doesn’t need a Witcher’s services.” 

“He is my heart.” Geralt stated simply, looking at the back door that Jaskier had slipped through.

“Mmm.” Madeline was unimpressed, but didn’t expect much better, honestly. It was a simple statement, and straight to the point, and she said as much. “So you’re going after him, then?” 

“Yes.” He croaked, turning and she could see desperation spinning in his eyes. “I will hunt him down as often as I need to. As often as he wants me to.”

“But will you follow him?” 

“As long as he’ll have me.” 

She stared at him hard, trying to parse the truth in his expression. Finally, she sighed. “...There’s a Witcher-friendly weapons training studio on the other side of town, I’m sure you know where to go. He likes to practice his shooting there when he’s in town.” Geralt blinked. While distinctly Witcher-friendly spaces existed, not many knew what to look for outside of the community. Though, seeing as a sticker was on the window of the bar with the Witcher-friendly symbol printed on it, it wasn’t that much of a stretch. Only Witchers knew the classical written sign of Supirre, after all. It was one of the few signs that all Witchers knew that wasn’t directly related to battle. But how Madeline knew about it, he didn’t know.

Geralt raised his eyebrow. “Yeah, doesn’t seem the type, does he? It was definitely a surprise for me the first time I saw the holster for his guns, but he’s a surprisingly good shot.”

Wait, guns? “Guns? Jask-” Geralt bit his tongue to stop from saying the wrong name- what if he really did like the name Joey better? “Joey knows how to shoot?”

“Yeah. He told me once that he’s known how to shoot since he was really young. Though, who knows how long ago that really was, huh?” Since when did Jaskier learn how to shoot? It wasn’t while he was following Geralt. He never once picked up a bow, let alone the crossbow that Geralt had buried in the bottom of his pack for emergencies. “So, do you know how to get there?”

Geralt shook his head, still reeling in the fact that Jaskier knew how to handle a weapon, and apparently use it well. “Here, I can type the address into your phone so you can have directions.”

“Don’t have one.” Geralt shook his head. Seeing her utterly confused and slightly condescending look, he decided to explain. “Got swallowed by a ghoul. Couldn’t use it after it got bitten in half, so I’m heading home to get a new one.” 

Maddison opened her mouth to explain that that’s not how that works, but decided better than to get in the middle of that particular mess. Who knows, maybe Witchers have very specific styles of phones that they can only get in certain areas? She, frankly, didn’t want to know. Dealing with Joey’s eccentricities had taught her to just let certain things be, including the onward flow of technology and how certain long-lived kinds of people felt no need to get the latest gadget unless and until ole faithful stopped working beyond repair. 

“Ok, give me a minute to find a piece of paper and a pen and I’ll write them down for you.”

“Thank you.” Looking back at the man, Maddison snorted and shook her head. After a few more minutes, she finally just grabbed an empty envelope and found a pen buried in the bottom of her purse to jot down the directions and hand them over.

“You know you found the right place, when you see Joey’s bike around back. You can’t miss it.”

Studying her directions, it took a moment to parse the Modern Common and her scribbled handwriting. “What’s the place called again?”

“LEG Pack, why?” Geralt released a surprised grunt, then huffed a laugh to himself.

“Of course. Thank you.” She got the sense that it was for more than the scribbled directions on the back of an old bill envelope, but decided to let it go.

“No problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Don't forget your LEG day!" -Discord (It was gonna be GLE... but then Discord happened. GDI)
> 
> Its Lambert Eskel Geralt Pack, btw


	3. Can I Follow You?

Looking down at the directions and then back up at the squat rectangular building, Geralt decided he was in the right place and parked next to the only motorcycle in the lot. In fact, they were the only two vehicles in the lot, period. The front lights were turned off, as well, he suspected, the front doors locked and secured for the night. Going around back, he spotted the nondescript door with a number pad off to the side. The motion sensor light was still on, so it only had been a handful of minutes since Jaskier had - Joey, his name was Joey now- had been there. How he had gotten the code for a Witcher-only entrance had him curious though. But, then again, it had been 700 years and it was a small continent. Though, he hadn’t been aware of a LEG Pack building in this town, and he had thought he had known of every one of their locations. 

To the general public, these buildings were a chain of weapons and self-defense studios, but for those in the know, they were also weapon and supply caches for the few remaining Witchers across the continent. One just couldn’t go out and pick ingredients for potions any more, not without the risk of contamination from pesticides. And bladesmiths were fewer and fewer between, especially ones that worked in silver as well as steel, so when one was found, they learned how to stock up in case the unfortunate inevitable happened. Along with various other traditional trappings of the Witcher trade, such as bombs or crossbows. 

...Or not so traditional, as the case may be. Using his own code and his medallion pressed into the ‘hand’ scanner, Geralt stepped into the Witcher-only space of the building and looked around. The caches tended to reflect the Witcher that used them the most and, well, he was unfamiliar with this setup, though it looked vaguely familiar. In a glass case were the various swords- both steel and silver- to use. There were the standard long sword all Witchers knew to wield, but a series of shorter blades were in the case as well. From Viper fangs- paired short blades primarily meant for stabbing- to daggers and stilettos. At one end was a mid-length curved blade, slightly wider towards the tip than the handle, that looked well-loved and well-used. 

Across the room, where potions and bombs were usually stored, was another glass case, this one with what could best be described as ‘a history of guns’, from the simple flintlocks at the top- wood polished and steel maintained, but clearly no longer used- to various other rifles and handguns, including an inordinate amount of spearguns and another gun that looked somewhere between a rifle and a speargun, but he didn’t quite know what it was. 

In the next room over, a series of gunshots rang out, making Geralt jump out of his introspection, running for the door that separated him from where the gunshots were coming from. Slamming open the door, he paused, taking in the scene in the next room. Jaskier- Joey- was alone, to start, and that sight alone let Geralt release the breath he was holding. He was at the shooting range, a pair of bright orange safety muffs over his ears as he continued to shoot at a steady pace. It also explained the empty hooks in the gun case. He had never been one for guns (despite Lambert's vocal protests), so all he could tell was that it was a small hand gun, and that he looked like he knew his way around the weapon. 

“Are you going to say something, or did you come here to practice?” Jaskier-  _ JOEY- _ had stopped shooting when he wasn’t paying attention, and now had the muffs around his neck, a second set held out for Geralt to take.

“I’m a shit shot.” But he took the earmuffs anyway.

“Some things don’t change then, do they?” Jas- JOEY- quirked his lips and put his muffs back on and loaded another clip before taking aim, giving Geralt a bare moment to put the muffs on himself before the first shot rang out, making him flinch. 

Joey looked at Geralt out of the corner of his eye and hummed, keeping his face carefully blank as he emptied the clip into the target. Geralt watched as he pushed the button, summoning the paper target from the back of the range. The target certainly had a lot of holes in it, mostly clustered around the head area of the target, as well as the heart… as well as a few stray shots that looked like they would have hit the groin on a human.

“Ja-Joey.” The musician turned to give Geralt his attention and Geralt’s mouth and courage dried up. “Ah. Spar. Would you like to spar?” 

Joey’s blank stare made him squirm. The blue, which had never let him go in seven centuries, turned icy grey. “Sure. That’s what you’re here for, right?”

“I- yes.” At least, now it was. Geralt closed his eyes as Joey passed him to go back into the armory. The door had closed when Geralt had slammed through earlier, locking itself like it was supposed to- separating the public weapons training area from the private back rooms. He watched surprise as Joey put in his own code… and pressed a medallion that he had pulled out of his pocket to the sensor. He had been expecting Joey to ask him to put in his own code- but that was ridiculous, because how would he have entered the building in the first place if he didn’t already have his own code? The medallion though. That caught him off guard. He could count on one hand people who had medallions that weren’t Witchers… and he hadn’t thought Jaskier was one of them.

“-to use one of mine?” 

“What?” 

“...Are you doing okay, Geralt?” He studied the wolf, stepping within easy reach of the other.

“I-” No, he needed to do  _ better _ . Ciri would be so disappointed in him otherwise. “No. I’m not.” cradling Joey’s face in both hands, Geralt ducked the bare inches to be the same level as Joey. “I’m  _ sorry _ . For  _ everything _ . I was an idiot. I didn’t appreciate you. I took  _ advantage _ of you, always thinking that you’d just be  _ there. _ ” ‘for me’ was unspoken, but rang loudly between them. “...And then you were gone.” 

He closed his eyes and sighed, tilting his head down, but grabbed hold of Geralt’s hands on his cheeks. “And now?”

“Now?”

What did he want? What answer would give him his bard back?

“Why did you follow me, Geralt? You apologized. Twice now. And I’ve forgiven you. I did a long time ago. You have no responsibility to watch over me now. I’m not going to follow you now, so you don’t have to worry about that.” 

Geralt closed his eyes in pain, his thumbs brushing under Joey’s eyes as he touched their foreheads together. “Can I follow you?” He didn’t know how true the question was until he asked it. 

“Oh, Geralt.” Joey breathed, turning his face enough to kiss Geralt’s wrist before ducking under his hold and walking over to the sword cases. Taking down the steel broadsword, he handed it over to Geralt before grabbing the well-loved steel cutlass. Seeing Geralt staring at the weapon in his hand, Joey shrugged before gesturing with it absently. “I went to the coast, after. Stayed there a while.” 


	4. Once was a coincidence. Twice was a, well… Damn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All I can say is 'Oops...?' Honestly, I thought I was caught up updating this. And then I got... distracted. With life, with another fic, y'all know how this goes. So, with my birthday coming up on the 21st, I'm planning on posting on all my current fics to catch them all up to were I currently am... and then we can all suffer together as we (I) try to figure out what's happening next!

The door to the bar closed behind him and he fiddled with his phone, connecting it to the piece he had quickly shoved in his ear before dialing one of the first numbers he had ever memorized when phones became a  _ thing. _ The phone rang twice before the other end picked up. “Yo-”

“ _ What the fuck Lambert. _ ” Jaskier hissed, straddling his bike and kicking it on to emphasize his sentence. “‘He’s going East, you’ll be fine’  _ Bullshite.” _

“And hello to you too, Mi’lord!” Lambert’s voice chirped through his speakers as he peeled out of the back parking lot.

“Seven  _ hundred _ years, Lambert. Seven. Hundred. Years. Poof! Up in smoke in one night.” ‘ _ I trusted you _ ’ He wanted to hiss, but some things were just out of their control. Geralt, the great handsome lug, was one of those things. He was  _ known _ to toss the middle finger toward both mortal and godly plans. 

“Frankly, I lost that bet centuries ago.” Lambert stated dryly. “To be fair, his GPS blinked out two days ago and last I checked, he  _ was _ going east.”

“Not anymore!” There was a slightly hysterical note in his voice as he took a turn a little more sharply than any sane mortal would on a bike. “He went very much west, apparently.”

“...Yep.” There was nothing Lambert could really do at that point but agree. “Apparently. You going to change your plans?” 

“Oh,  _ Fuck  _ no. I’m not chasing that bastard after all this time. I’m not some lost puppy!” 

“Tch.” Lambert agreed. “You could have tracked him down any time. That’s what you do best.” In actuality… he had. Tracked Geralt down in the past. Every couple of years, he would check in on the Wolf- if only to make sure that he hadn’t died a stupid death. And when phones replaced xenovoxes, it made it even easier to do. A simple phone call to any of their extended mutual friends/family assuaged his worry for another dozen or so years. 

“Not like it was ever hard.” he pulled into the local LEG Pack building and locked down his bike, pulling his medallion from under his jacket and letting it hang like any out and proud Witcher would. “I only ever had to keep an ear out for ‘big scary Witcher with white hair, gold eyes and only speaks in monosyllabic words.’” Lamberts laugh covered the beeping as he put in his code and had to remove his helmet to remove his medallion to press to the scanner. Smoothly, he shouldered the door open and tossed the helmet onto the table. Absently, he pocketed his medallion instead of putting it back around his neck like he should.

“-ke Vesemir ever left the keep.” Lambert’s voice cut back in mid-sentence as he adjusted the piece that the helmet had nearly jostled out of his ear when he removed it. 

Jaskier nodded along, perusing his guns. “Wish that I would have met the man, even once. The stories he could have told me. What do you think, the Glock or the Baretta?”

“Eww, I don’t know how you can stand Barettas.” Lambert sounded pained. “You’re doing the Baretta, aren’t you?  _ Heathen _ .”

“Yep.” He plucked the handgun from the case and checked that it didn’t have a bullet already in the chamber before he grabbed a handful of pre-loaded clips. Sure, he could reload the same clip, but he wanted to see how many he could shoot before his elbow started to seize up. Fucking kelpie. 

“Ole Ves never  _ told _ stories, I thought I told you that.” Lambert kept talking, even as Jaskier shed his jacket onto the table next to his helmet and walked through to the practice hall. “Unless you’re Ciri. But then again, that girl can get a pleasant conversation from a  _ nekker _ .” Jaskier snorted in agreement, flipping through the various folders of paper targets, settling for a generic humanoid one before clipping it to the line. “No, you got whatever stories you could from the old man’s diaries, oh, sorry  _ jour-” _

A sound from the next room had Jaskier freezing before releasing a controlled breath and turning to the target once again, squaring up his aim. “He’s here.” Jaskier’s tone was a lot steadier than his heartbeat.

“- _ nals. _ Yeah, are you  _ honestly  _ surprised there? Want me to stay on the line?” 

Jaskier put on the pair of muffs hanging next to the shooting lane. It’s not like he needed to worry about hearing where Geralt was in the building. “Hn.” sighting down the barrel, remembering to keep both eyes open. “If you want. Gun.” He warned before he squeezed the trigger. It hit lower than he’d like. He squeezed off a few more rounds before the door slammed open, nearly making him miss the target entirely. Taking a steadying breath, he finished the clip before putting the gun down and turning to face Geralt head-on. 

“So… Are you going to say something, or did you come here to practice?” He asked eventually, breaking off the staring contest that they were having. Anyone else would have started to squirm under the intense studying gaze of the White Wolf, but he was too used to the look. As is, his hand was itching back toward his- now empty- gun. Instead, he grabbed the spare earmuffs and held them out for Geralt to take. 

“I’m a shit shot.”

No shit,  _ really? _ He couldn’t tell, what with the crossbow absolutely buried in the bottom of his pack with only the bare minimum of bolts to make it less than dead weight. Over two decades following the man and he had only seen him pull out the crossbow to maintain it, and even then, he could count those times on one hand.  _ He _ had handled the thing more than the Witcher who actually owned it. “Some things don’t change then, do they?” When Geralt took the muffs, he turned back to switching out the empty clip for one of the full ones, ignoring how his elbow started to twinge from the kickback, his old wound starting to act up. Leaving Geralt to do what he would, Jaskier let himself settle into the moving meditation that was target practice and when he ran out of bullets and his elbow started to scream at him, he finally put down the gun and pushed the button to summon the target closer. 

“Ja-Joey. Ah. Spar. Would you like to spar?” Why the fuck was he calling him Joey? That wasn’t his- oh. Geralt really didn’t get the concept of a Stage Name, did he? He still remembered the day that he had to explain that ‘Jaskier’ was actually a Stage Name as well, and that he was born Viscount Julian Alfred Pankratz. He still didn’t think Geralt exactly  _ got it. _

“Sure. That’s what you’re here for, right?” Or, at least, that’s what he assumed. A small part of his mind (And Lambert in his ear) insisted that it was for him, but that was ridiculous. Once was a coincidence. Twice was a, well… Damn. 

“I-yes.” Geralt agreed. There. It was a coincidence. Gathering up his gun and spent clips, he sighed as he had to put his code in the door. This one tended to get sticky, not letting him through sometimes if it didn’t register his code, or something like that. The internal doors only needed a code or a medallion, unlike the outside door that needed both, but it was better to do both. So he pulled his medallion from his pocket and pressed it to the sensor as well. 

He could hear Geralt follow behind him as he dumped the gun and clips on the table next to his helmet so that he would remember to clean and restock the pieces before he put them away for next time. In the meanwhile, he turned toward the sword case and eyed them all up. “Look, I know you like yours, but do you want to use one of mine?” 

“...What?” Turning, Jaskier saw the blank look Geralt was giving him, like Jaskier was one of the beasts that he had to defeat and was trying to figure out just _ what the hell _ he was in the first place. 

“...Are you doing okay, Geralt?” Jaskier asked, stepping closer and raising his hand to check the other’s temperature before catching himself and letting his hand drop.

“I…” Geralt looked down at Jaskier and closed his mouth, swallowing his next words with a click in his throat before trying again. If he didn’t know any better, he could say that it was  _ grief _ that creased his face briefly before it smoothed back out. “No. I’m not.” That, in itself, shook Jaskier to his very core. Geralt  _ never _ admitted to his feelings. And then he did something that would have made a younger, more dramatic, Jaskier faint: he touched him. Willingly.

Taking a steadying breath (and also Geralt’s scent. Still the same after all this time, including the faint stench of horse and onion), Jaskier’s eyes fluttered before he caught himself, but he still let his head be supported by Geralt’s strong hands. And then he became the victim of Geralt’s most intense stare yet. His eyes shone like gold coins in the lights. “I’m  _ sorry _ . For  _ everything _ . I was an idiot. I didn’t appreciate you. I took  _ advantage _ of you, always thinking that you’d just be  _ there. _ ” ‘for me’ was unspoken, but rang loudly between them. “...And then you were gone.” 

‘ _ Oh, Geralt _ ’ Jaskier licked his lips subconsciously, his eyes falling to half-mast. ‘ _ I love you, too. Always have _ .’

“Uh…” Lambert’s voice cut through his ear piece, startling Jaskier. He had forgotten that he was still on the line. “If you’re gonna make out with my brother, which, eww, I’m going to hang up now.” 

Spell broken, Jaskier dropped his head and sighed, grounding himself in reality by grabbing Geralt’s hands, torn between removing them and pressing them closer to tattoo them into his skin. “And now?” 

“Now?” Geralt gave him a blank look. A piece of the puzzle obviously missing here, though it was very obvious- to Jaskier, at least. 

“Why did you follow me, Geralt?” Jaskier asked. “You apologized. Twice now. And I’ve forgiven you. I did a long time ago. You have no responsibility to watch over me now. I’m not going to follow you now, so you don’t have to worry about that.” He was proud of himself, for not laughing at his own pathetic past. Melitele, how he could stand being around him, let alone for over twenty years. And yet, here they were, unable to forget each other even when their time together was barely a blip in their long, long lives. And he had learned how to stand on his own two feet and fight to survive and win. He didn’t need Geralt to protect him any longer. Hadn’t for a long time now. 

“Can I follow you?” The question startled both of them and they met eyes again.

“Oh.” Jaskier could hear Geralt’s pulse jackrabbit along with his own. “Geralt.”  _ ‘Yes’ _ he wanted to crow to the heavens, ‘ _ Gods, yes. _ ’ The heat from Geralt’s skin seared into his deliciously. He had to get away. Turning away, he gave in the slightest and gave Geralt the only kiss he would likely ever give the man- on his wrist.

Escaping to the sword case, he picked up one of the broadswords and held it out for Geralt to take. He knew it would be the correct weight for the Witcher, because he remembered what Geralt’s swords felt like. He knew their heft almost better than his own. When stocking this cache, he had Geralt in mind when picking this set. That, and Lambert had also confirmed that it was the same sword that Geralt used, given his choice. While he never used broadswords himself, it helped to take care of these ones. It made him feel close to the Wolf and took the edge off when the urge to go hunt him down became unbearable. After his own preferred sword, that one was probably the one that ended up getting the most maintenance. It shone with a mirror-like shine in Geralt’s hand.

His own was much shorter, with a curve and more weighted at the tip. A Skillegan cutlass was his sword of choice, and had been ever since he had picked up his first one as a child. Growing up in Kerack, pirates were a way of life and hiding on various ships had planted those seeds of adventure that had led him to Posada and beyond. Inspecting the sword’s heft absently, he caught Geralt’s eye and gave it an experimental swing. “I went to the coast, after”  _ the mountain.  _ “Stayed there for a while.”  _ Waiting for you. Grieving our friendship. Trying to forget you.  _ The excuse changed, depending on his feelings. And a while… certainly, to put it mildly. More like, he had stayed there for the rest of his human life. And then he had spent the next few centuries constantly on and off various ships. There were times when he hadn’t touched dry land for a decade or more. 

“I went to Oxenfurt. You weren’t there.” 

“No, I wasn’t.” Jaskier agreed, shaking his head. “I ended up finding someplace else to teach for a while.” Which was… not exactly a lie. He wasn’t teaching college studies to budding bards, that’s for sure. “I ended up finding my calling there instead.” More like, they needed an expert on Witchers that wasn’t already affiliated with a school and they wouldn’t take no for an answer. 

Geralt nodded “You always were the best teacher. I always hoped I could find you and ask you to come teach Ciri how to use her words like you do. We could teach her to fight, and Yenn taught her magic, but we needed someone to teach her how to be human. We needed you.”

Jaskier hummed, smiling slightly as he tilted his head. “I think she turned out fine.”

“I-  _ what _ ?”

Lifting his sword with a smirk, he used it to lead the way back into the practice room. “What? You thought it was just bad luck, avoiding you for a millennium? Yenn came and found me within a year. And I met Lambert, and a select few other examples of Witcher-dom when I was, ah,  _ tenured  _ as the local Witcher expert. The others would come through and teach a lesson or two before moving on.” Jaskier shrugged, sliding into his ready stance and pointed the tip of the cutlass at Geralt. “Now, you wanted to spar, Oh White Wolf.” 

“I-hmm.” Jaskier couldn’t help but to laugh a bit as Geralt fell back on his old standard. Reluctantly, he raised his own blade, refusing to make the first move. After staring at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time, Geralt nodded for Jaskier to make the first move. Rolling his eyes, he did so, easily dancing under Geralt’s slow and widely projected swing. Even a toddler could have avoided it, it was that obvious. It was painful to watch, let alone bother to block. Jaskier  _ knew _ Geralt’s fighting style. Even more, he knew Wolf style in general from the remaining two-thirds of the original school as well. 

Remaining light on his feet- much like Geralt should have been doing- Jaskier danced and ducked under Geralt’s arm, giving his thigh a love-tap with the side of his blade in passing. Backing up far enough, Jaskier reset, watching Geralt turn to face Jaskier once again, his eyes wide with disbelief.

“Now, are we going to actually spar, or are you going to keep doing stretches instead of trying to actually use your sword on me?” He was slightly faster this time, at least, making Jaskier have to actually parry with his sword as he spun away. The strike was the furthest thing from having any strength behind it, but it was better than what it was before. 

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier decided it was enough. If Geralt wasn’t going to take this seriously (especially since he was the one to ask for the spar in the first place), he would have to end it on his own terms. Slipping under Geralt’s guard once again, Jaskier formed the well-known sign of Aard and pressed it against Geralt’s ribs, blasting him only a handful of feet away. It wasn’t near as powerful as he could make it, but he didn’t want to actually  _ hurt _ the man, even if he was frustrated with him.


	5. The Medallion

Watching the casual way that Joey handled the blade was a thing of beauty. That he had obviously learned how to handle a blade while he wasn’t around both warmed his heart and dripped ice down his spine. He had to learn how to handle a weapon, yes, and it was solely because Geralt was no longer around to protect him. “I went to Oxenfurt. You weren’t there.” Ever since he had known the bard, the coast was Oxenfurt. He knew that Jaskier had tended to spend his winters there, more often than not, helping to teach the next generation of bards their craft. 

“No, I wasn’t.” Joey shook his head, a little nostalgic and sad smile on his lips. “I ended up finding someplace else to teach for a while. I ended up finding my calling there instead.” While unexpected, Geralt wasn’t exactly surprised. As much as Jaskier loved teaching, the politics of Oxenfurt always got to him by the time spring had rolled around. And by the time they met up each year, Jaskier was right fed up with the whole situation once again. Wracking his brain, he couldn’t think of any other colleges he could have taught at at that time. At least, none in the northern kingdoms came to mind. Perhaps it was a more private school. A smaller one where the politics of an entire kingdom didn’t weigh heavily on every professor and student’s mind. 

Geralt nodded, happy for his- the bard, having found someplace that could make him happy. Still “You always were the best teacher. I always hoped I could find you and ask you to come teach Ciri how to use her words like you do.” Gods, how Jaskier’s tongue could be sharper than silver when given the chance. “We could teach her to fight. And Yen taught her magic, but we needed someone to teach her how to be human.” Geralt managed to catch Jaskier’s eye. “We needed you.”  _ I needed you. _

Joey blinked softly with a small smile. “I think she turned out fine.”

“I-” What? “ _ What?” _ Geralt blinked, thinking back at any time that Ciri could have possibly met Jaskier. The only time he could think of would be if the bard had performed at Cintra’s court- no, but they had both been banned after the betrothal feast- no, Jaskier hadn’t. Just he had. 

Rocking back on his hind foot, Joey gave Geralt that little smile that usually spelled trouble, more often than not. “What? You thought it was just bad luck, avoiding  _ you _ for a millennium?” Actually, unfortunately, yes, he did, he thought resignedly. “Yen came and found me within a year.”  _ The traitor. ‘Haven’t seen him since the mountain’ Eskel’s goat. _ “And I met Lambert,”  _ What?! The brat.  _ “And a select few other examples of Witcher-dom when I was… ah. ‘Tenured’ as the local Witcher expert.” What the hell kind of school was it, that they needed an expert on Witchers on hand to the point where they would offer Jaskier a permanent position? And, wait a moment, ‘other Witchers’? Was he the only one who didn’t know where Jaskier was this entire time? Had they all deliberately kept Jaskier from him? Geralt’s heart sunk. If it was true, he really was beyond redemption. “Now, you wanted to spar  _ Oh White Wolf?” _

Geralt couldn’t help but to flinch. The way that Joey said it was not the way that Jaskier did. There was mockery in that sweet face now. No, he didn’t. Sparring was a stupid idea. One he was quickly coming to regret. “I-Hmm.” But spar, he would. This was one fight that he would gladly forfeit, if it lessened the distance between them. 

He couldn’t do it, though, be the first one to strike. This was  _ Jaskier _ , his  _ bard _ . Who was more suited toward barroom brawls against idiotic farmers with more mouth than sense, armed with nothing but his lute and a tankard. Or, these days, more likely his guitar and a broken glass bottle. Geralt barely restrained a laugh at that, earning a questioning brow from the very man. 

Sooner than he would like and longer than most others’ patience would allow, Joey moved to attack first, flicking his weapon around Geralt’s blade like it was water. While, yes, he would reluctantly admit to projecting his moves like if he was sparring with Ciri when she was younger, he was still caught off as Joey slipped into his guard like he did his heart, striking a point on his thigh with a tap barely hard enough to be felt through the denim of his pant leg. 

He was beautiful. Light on his feet as he danced around with the sword like he had with his beloved lute. He didn’t know what to expect, but his movements being pure poetry was still unexpected. He moved constantly, not giving Geralt a chance to line up a shot before Jaskier moved again. His boots barely made a sound on the concrete floors either, he was so light on his feet. It was… it was magic in motion. 

“Now, are we actually going to spar,” Joey teased, that light in his eye that Geralt loved, “Or are you going to keep doing stretches instead of trying to actually use your sword on me?” Geralt would admit freely, if only to himself, that no, he wasn’t going to ever use his sword on this man, even if he held that razor-sharp curved blade to his neck, he would let Joey do what he would. It was only right, after all.

He did, though, speed up slightly, just enough to force Joey to make a choice between a parry and ducking away. Never too fast that he wouldn’t be able to pull away at any time. 

In a move that Geralt was quickly learning was a favorite of Jaskier’s, using his slightly smaller stature and agility to get under Geralt’s guard, he felt a hand pressed into his ribs before he was forced to stumble back several steps, blinking in confusion. The residue of chaos floating through the air, making his medallion vibrate. Sparring against any other Witcher, he would know and expect the familiar sensation. Here though? That was “Aard?”

Joey held up his empty hand in a very familiar gesture. “Yep.”

Pieces started falling into place. Geralt’s eyes started vacillating between round and slitted as his control slipped, as well as his breathing shallowed out. It had been 700 years. A human would have been dead and dust long before. And he had told Geralt that there was elf blood in his family, but it was so dilute that it had done nothing but improve his skin quality and youthfulness. Indeed. The man was forty on the Mountain, the last time he had seen him. And yet, here he was, looking like it had only been a scant few years. Diluted elven blood just didn’t do that. And then there was the medallion-

The Medallion!

“Let me see it.” Geralt demanded, lunging toward Joey and stopping short as the man instinctually brought up his sword in a defensive gesture. And that was another thing. The Jaskier he knew abhorred weapons. 

“See what?” 

“The- your medallion. What school is it?” 

“Oh.” Joey’s voice warbled in an unidentifiable emotion as he dug the chain out of his pocket and held it out. “Sure.” 

Geralt took it and, despite never having seen one in person before, immediately recognized the wings forming a circle around a distinctive long-beaked head. “Crane.” Thinking back on it, the timing was right. Jaskier would have been reaching his ‘golden years’ right at the height of the second conjunction, and if he had been commissioned to help with the school as their resident Witcher scholar- well. “But that school folded. They’re all dead.”

“Yes.” Joey spoke quietly, taking his medallion back. “And no.” Putting the chain around his neck, he looked Geralt in the eye and… his eyes slitted. “It’s just me now. None of the kids are left.”

“...No.” Geralt took a step back, his own eyes slitting in horror. “But. No. You. The trials should have killed you.”

“And yet.” Joey threw his arms wide with a bitter, nostalgic smile on his face. “Here we are. It would have been perfect if it had though. That’s why I volunteered. I didn’t  _ mean  _ to survive them. I was an old man at that point. It was supposed to be my last hurrah, not my new lease on life. I did it to try to understand you. How better to try to understand your pain, than to go through the same torments that you did?”

A low mournful sound bounced off the walls and it took Geralt an embarrassingly long time to realize that he was the one making it. His Jaskier, the light that made even the darkest times in his life bright, had just confessed to what amounted to suicide, all in an attempt to  _ understand him better. _

“I thought it would help the kids, you know, to see their teacher volunteering to go through the same thing that they were about to do.”

Gods, he was still talking. Like each word wasn’t made out of freshly broken glass.

“And then I actually woke up.” Jaskier’s laugh was raspy, like the old man he was, having seen too much. “Fifty years younger and having to learn how to walk all over again. Not to mention the eyes. Do you still get tension headaches, because I do. I’m just glad that I kept my blue. It matches my complexion better, don’t you think?” 

“Jaskier. May I touch you?” It wasn’t so much a request as a warning as he enveloped the slightly smaller in his arms, burying his nose under the other’s ear.

“Oh! Hi, Hello. This is a  _ thing _ now.  _ Very huggy. _ Is this a Ciri thing?” Jaskier babbled, stiff but relaxing into Geralt’s hold as the hug continued.

“Yes.” Geralt replied simply. Now that he was this close and knew what to look for, under the smoke that clung to his clothes and the aftershave on his cheeks, there was that note in his natural musk that screamed ‘Witcher’. 


	6. Is this a Ciri Thing?

“Jaskier, May I touch you?” That was… that was not what he expected. Because, hello, Witchers (Read: Geralt) Don’t Touch. Or, at least, never touched him. And now, here he was, being hugged. As if the touch to his face earlier wasn’t already too much. 

Geralt. Was Hugging.

Him. 

Was this a dream?

“Oh! Hi, Hello. This is a  _ thing _ now.  _ Very huggy. _ Is this a Ciri thing?” He babbled, trying to tell his body to pull back- it really was the right thing to do, after all- but it just wasn’t obeying him. O-okay, just a few more minutes then. 

“Yes.” 

…’Yes’ what? Jaskier sighed, really wanting to get into this hug, he really did, but…

Did the ‘hug it out’ thing become a  _ thing _ that Ciri started making Witchers do? Because he remembered more than one awkward hugging situation in various gatherings in the past, thanks to Ciri playing peacekeeper. And it's not that she could overpower them, no, it was her  _ stare. _ She had them wrapped her dainty little fingers from the word go. And disappointing her was a powerful thing. Frankly, that girl could tell them all to jump off a bridge, and they’d have a competition on who could find the tallest!

“You’re not dead.” 

“No, sorry about that.” Jaskier tried to make for a light tone, but apparently failed, because there he was, whining again. In any other circumstance, he would be impressed that Geralt could reach such a pitch.

“I mourned you. I tried to find your grave.” 

Oh.

Wow.

Shit. Was he crying? 

Were they both crying?

“Well,” Jaskier warbled, cleared his throat and attempted again. “Kinda hard to find if there isn’t one, is there?” 

And there was that good ole Geralt Grunt as he felt the man’s hand span the back of his head to pull him closer. There was no getting out of Geralt’s grip now. Not like he was even trying anymore anyway. “So, uh, I guess we’re done with the sparring, then?”

Geralt’s grunt turned pained. “I don’t want to fight you.” He murmured into Jaskier’s hair. 

He wasn’t sure if Geralt meant it or not, still he nodded. “I never did.” He spoke, just as quietly.

It took them a while, but eventually Jaskier’s temperament demanded that they  _ move. _ Trying to pull away, he looked at Geralt. “Hey.” A grunt, which earned him a wry smile in return. “You had dinner yet?” 

“I’m fine.” but it did what Jaskier wanted and Geralt finally let go. “I have some jerky in my truck.”

“That’s-” No, no he wasn’t going to fight him. “Well, I’m famished and I know this great little place that I swear has never known the meaning of the word ‘closed’.”

“It’s two am.” Geralt stated dryly.

“Exactly! The place is great! I usually end up going with Maddie and at least one of the guys after a set when we’re too keyed up to go to bed and… well.”

“When you don’t get lucky.” Jaskier opened his mouth, winced, and closed it. “Trust me, those days are very few and far between these days. It’s just… awkward.”

“What about… Maddie?” 

Jaskier couldn’t help but to laugh, shaking his head. “Maddie’s, well. I’m friends with the family. Have been for, oh, wow, probably a hundred years now. I taught her grandmother- great-grandmother?- when I decided to have another go at Oxenfurt. Still hate the politics.” 

Geralt huffed out a breath, surprising Jaskier. Somehow, they ended up holding hands as one led the other back through to the armory. The swords were easy to wipe down, but that left Jaskier staring at the guns and empty clips lying on the table next to his helmet and jacket, seriously debating on just leaving them until the morning instead of maintaining them like he should. “Show me?” He asked softly, squeezing Jaskier’s hand to emphasize.

“Umm… yes. Okay.” Losing his courage, Jaskier ducked his head before pulling out his cleaning kit and sitting down, kicking out the chair next to him for Geralt to use. He didn’t do much, more like a glorified dusting, but Geralt leaned in and, it seemed, he had genuine questions about the various parts and how it all worked together. 

* * *

“I was never invited to the crane school.” Geralt stated after a while, watching Joey work with his tools.

“No, I… I guess you wouldn’t have.” Joey murmured, polishing the slide of his gun. “Sorry.” He understood, now, why he had seemingly been snubbed all those years ago. But it made sense now. Eskel had gone a few times, coming back with stories of younglings learning their signs, and a few even taking the ideas with a fresh mind unencumbered by years of tradition and modifying them. He had heard that some of the boys had figured how to fly for short stretches, even. And Lambert, well, he had never exactly belonged to the Wolf school, being part of the last class to graduate. It had been Cats, for the longest time, that he would actively train with. But when the Crane school was being put together, he was right in the thick of it. As much as he always said (and still says) that he hates being a Witcher, Geralt still thought he was one of the best ones to come out of that wreck of a place. 

After the first time that he had retired to Toussant, and both Eskel and Lambert had ended up wintering with the Cranes, teaching, he asked about coming along. It was one of the first times that Eskel managed to evade all his questions. Far from the last though. It made him wonder, just how well Jaskier was acquainted with the rest of the living Witchers, without him noticing.

Then again, he always had been a bit of a lone wolf. It may not have even been that difficult to do. 

“Did I...Hmm...Do you know… everyone?” He stuttered through the question, not quite knowing how to ask, but trying anyway.

Joey, in response, gave Geralt a small smile. “There were a few close calls, but yes. You know how everyone tries to meet up at least a few times a decade? I know that you’re not really big into them, so I felt safe going and catching up with everyone. Especially Lambert and Letho. And the few times that you decide to show up, someone usually was keeping an eye out for you. So while you came in the front, I slipped out the back.” That… he wasn’t going crazy! There had been so many times, where Geralt could swear he could smell Jaskier, either on his fellow Witcher’s clothes, or on the air itself. “You nearly caught me about fifty years ago, really.” 

He remembered that night. He had smelled Jaskier and he had chased the scent through the back rooms and kitchens, only to see a car pulling out of the back parking lot. Lambert had managed to pull him away and back to the festivities before he could take chase. He had convinced himself that he was crazy and that it had been an employee leaving for the night. 

“And tonight?”

Joey gave him a deadeye stare and started reassembling his gun with a bit more force than necessary. “I was  _ told _ that you were going east.” 

“Ah. hn. A nekker ate my phone. I’m going home to get a new one.”

“That’s not how- you know, whatever. Yeah. I’ll give you one of my spares. I’m assuming it's one that Lambert set up then?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok. Yeah, we’ll pick that up after some food. Do I need to set it up for you?”

“I just turn it on, don’t I?” 

“Yeah-no.” Joey looked exhausted suddenly, like he hadn’t slept in a while. “Yeah, I’ll set it up for you and it should be ready to go by dawn.”

“You don’t have to cut into your sleep for me.”

Joey gave Geralt a deadeye look before flashing him a small amused smirk. “I know you like to head out early and It’ll only take a bit to finish before I hand it over to you. It’s mostly putting in the contact information and setting up the emergency call tree. Nothing major.”

“I can wait. I don’t need you to cut into your sleeping time for me.” Joey waved him off with a small laugh and a shake of his head.

“I was going to have to be up early anyway to head out.” He… really wanted to know where, but Joey never did say if he would be welcome to follow the slighter man. 

Quickly enough, the gun was packed up safely and tucked into the display case on its dedicated hooks, the glass case locked and keys pocketed. “Now, for the best invention in the past century:  _ Waffles!”  _ Joey cheered, shrugging on his jacket and slamming the helmet on his head. Still, staring at a blacked-out visor was unnerving to stare at as when he or another Witcher controlled their expression to the point of neutrality. This time when he made his way to his bike, he wasn’t running away.

**Author's Note:**

> Song Lyrics used in the first chapter:  
> The Unwanted Animal- The Amazing Devil  
> Farewell Wanderlust- The Amazing Devil  
> The Horror and the Wild- The Amazing Devil


End file.
